


Warm Like Honey

by 3BeesAndCoffee3



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Crying, Hurt, Hurt Credence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Magic, Mary Lou Barebone is Her Own Warning, Obscurial, Obscurial Credence Barebone, Original Percival Graves is a Softie, Protective Original Percival Graves, Scars, abuse recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 11:11:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14617190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3BeesAndCoffee3/pseuds/3BeesAndCoffee3
Summary: He’s been getting better and even when he doesn’t see it, Mr. Graves does and he tells him often how far he’s come. It feels good to hear someone take pride in him, to believe in him. It makes Credence glow from the inside out, warm and content. He feels like warm honey when Graves talks to him or comforts him.





	Warm Like Honey

**Author's Note:**

> I kinda can’t belive it took me so long to finish and post something for this fandom. Lemme know what you think!

Credence wakes up often in the night, drenched in sweat, in a fit of screaming and with his whole body wracked with sobs. 

Mr. Graves explains it like a hangover, that the remains of the Obscurus will pass and fade away like the nausea after too much to drink the night before. Credence hasn’t ever drank before, so the doesn’t quite get the full affect of his words, but he tries to be good and listen. He does understand, for the most part. He’s so patient with Credence, staying up with him every time he jolts awake with pain or another nightmare edged on by the wretched thing that lived inside him. He makes him tea and allows Credence his own bed in his own room. 

He’s been getting better and even when he doesn’t see it, Mr. Graves does and he tells him often how far he’s come. It feels good to hear someone take pride in him, to believe in him. It makes Credence glow from the inside out, warm and content. He feels like warm honey when Graves talks to him or comforts him.

He hasn’t had much luck with magic, hardly any at all, really. He tries so hard to get this, for Graves mostly, but himself too. Mr. Graves hasn’t given up on him yet, so Credence still tries every day with a fiery determination. He thinks sometimes that the only magic that was ever there was that awful, dark thing living inside him. (He’s been told many times it wasn’t his fault and that it wasn’t really him, so he tries to believe it.) he’s doing okay outside of magic, he supposes. He can’t leave the house, which is okay because Mr. Graves’ house is rather large and very nicely furnished, a whole library and everything, which he’s taken a liking to recently. 

He can spend hours in his massive bath, soaking in the warmth and lovely scented bubbles, or he’s permitted to sleep or read whatever and whenever. He’s free to do anything and go anywhere inside Mr. Graves’ house. He’s been so hospitable, it really feels like a home in someways. It’s more of a home than he’s had before. 

He’s not allowed outside of course, because he’s dead out there. He’s supposed to be dead, anyways. Graves said they would likely arrest him or kill him for what he—the Obscurus— has done. Credence doesn’t much remember Graves finding him, but he’s glad he did. He’s glad he didn’t turn him in, he’s glad that they found Graves mostly unharmed and that he would give Credence a second chance where he’s sure he doesn’t deserve one. 

He’s been told he’s lucky to be alive, a miracle even. Credence hasn’t ever been called anything so holy in his life and he bathes in it.

Graves doesn’t talk much about when he was away, captured by the other him. Grindelwald, that is. It all hurts Credence’s brain too much and he doesn’t push or ask questions. He’s just very happy that he was rescued. He’s even happier than Graves then rescued Credence. Again. 

Credence is cuddled up to his warm and soft blankets in bed now, eyes heavy. He hasn’t slept much the last few days. He’s been running an awful fever and the nightmares have been worse— it’s all been worse. He’s been told not to worry, that it might get worse before it gets better, but he feels like he’s coming apart at the seams. His whole body is burning up and it aches all over, every time he closes his eyes or falls asleep he hears Ma yelling, screaming. He feels the leather of the belt across his hands even with them tucked neatly under his pillow. He’s being haunted. 

There’s a soft little double tap at the door to the room Credence calls his own before it slides open and Graves enters. He’s wearing robes, barefoot with his hair slicked back out of his face. He’s carrying a tray with a cup of tea on it, a tiny cake of some kind that Credence doesn’t recognize and two tiny pills. 

“Here, lets get you to rest, hm?” Graves says like he’s been reading Credence’s mind. He perches himself on the edge of the bed, looking like a god there before Credence. 

“Sir, I can’t,” Credence mutters softly, miserably. He really can’t. If he sleeps she’ll be waiting for him, calling him the devil as she brings the belt down over his helpless body. Impure. Disgusting. He’s scum. He’s sin. 

“These will help,” he says gently, gesturing to the pills as he spoons in a generous amount of honey into Credence’s tea just as he likes. He’s found he rather likes sweet things. “They’ll help you get right to sleep, okay?”

Credence eyes them wearily. “Will they make it stop too?” He asks a little hesitantly. 

Graves looks at him with a bit of pity. “Credence, you need sleep, you’re doing amazingly well. I need you to be strong, I need you to be at your best.” 

Credence doesn’t miss that he doesn’t answer his question but he nods, staring down at his lap. 

“Nothing can get you when you’re here,” he says, handing Credence the delicate teacup. There are intricate little designs in gold across the lip of the cup, they dance slightly, weaving and forming new designs and patterns. Credence will never cease to be amazed by magic or Mr. Graves. “The only thing left to fight is what’s going on in your head.”

Credence nods again and takes a sip of the tea. It soothes his throat and he lets out a content sigh as he savors the soft favor and the sweetness on his tongue. 

“It drove you nearly mad, Credence,” Graves continues, watching him intently as he sips at his tea. “The fact that you’re doing as well as you are- it astounds me.”

Credence feels that happy glow in his stomach like he often does when Graves soothes him and talks like this. 

“I still hear her, I can feel her, Mr. Graves,” Credence says, his voice wavers as he stares into his cup. He’s almost drank half of it already. “Whenever I close my eyes.”

Graves reaches across the small distance between them and touches Credence’s chin gently, tilting it up so Credence will look at him. “She was a vile woman,” Graves says sternly and Credence knows it’s true but he still flinches.

“I will never let her hurt you, not again. No one will hurt you like that, Credence.” 

Credence nods, a tiny noise slips past his lips when Graves’ thumb gently swipes over his chin, across a sharp cheekbone. “How can I make this stop?” Credence asks, rephrasing his question just slightly. He wants it to stop, he needs it to. He needs sleep and peace but instead he’s being assaulted by bitter memories and unyielding guilt. He wishes Ma wasn’t there every time he closes his eyes, he wishes he could make her fade away like he’s done with some of his other memories from before, but she won’t go so easily. Graves’ spells don’t even quell it anymore, he thinks he might go truly mad if he can’t make it stop. 

Graves’ finger trails across the plump dryness of Credence’s lip, gentle with his eyes focused and dark. “I wish it was so simple, but there’s a part of you that’s letting it continue and manifest,” Graves says gently, slowly withdrawing his hand. Credence has to stop himself from chasing the touch and instead takes another drink of his tea. 

“I don’t mean to,” Credence says pitifully, bringing his legs up closer to himself. “I want it to stop, Mr. Graves, I do.” There are tears prickling at the corners of Credence’s tired eyes, blurring his vision. He’s so tired, he just wants to sleep. He just wants it to stop. 

“I know, I know you do,” Graves says, hushing him. “You have to forgive yourself. “

It isn’t the first time he’s heard those words come from Mr. Graves’ lips. He’s said it before, time and time again and he’ll likely say it again too. He told Credence before (one night when Credence couldn’t shake the sobs that were wracking his body and he couldn’t stop the waves of nausea that were hitting him again and again.) that the parts of the Obscurus still holding on and making his whole life twist and turn so awfully were there because of Credence. He doesn’t mean to, Graves said he understood that too, but it didn’t change the fact that the guilt and fear inside of him was responsible for the unending nightmare that his life was. 

He’d slowly worked with Graves in forgiveness, which might as well have been magic because it was nearly impossible. He had to merely forgive himself for the death of innocent people, of Wizard exposure. He’d eventually, for the most part, been able to harness the guilt, lock it away enough that it stopped making him sick, but his mother had stuck like a fly to a glue trap. He tried desperately to escape from it but it hurt, it was ripping him apart. This dated back as far as he could remember. 

“None of what happened was your fault, Credence.” 

Credence casts his glance down. That isn’t entirely true. His mother wasn’t entirely wrong, either. Witches had been something wonderful for Credence since after the Obscurial. He hated his Ma for that foul lie. Still, he couldn’t handle his own pain and suppression and that was what had killed people. 

“There’s nothing wrong with you.”

Credence furrowed his brow. “I killed people, that was—“

“It wasn’t you,” Graves reminds sternly. “Not you.”

“But it was my fault, wasn’t it? Containing it... letting it—“ Credence shakes his head. He doesn’t fully understand. The Obscurus and he were one and the same but yet Credence doesn’t know it at all. He hardly remembers it, save the awful nightmares and memories he chokes back up. 

“No. Credence, it really was a miracle you survived with that thing in you,” he says, setting the tray to the side so he can pull himself up onto the bed more. “I told you before that I can’t comprehend your strength.”

Credence flushes under the compliment. He wishes Graves would hold him. He craves physical affection most, more than air. “Am I a bad person?”

“No, but you were raised to think so.”

Credence looks at Graves questionably. He was always scared of Ma, but it’s hard to see her as the villain still. Part of him won’t believe it. There isn’t a trace of dishonestly or uncertainty on Graves’ face though, not at all.

“She hurt you Credence,” he sighs, frowning. He looks tired. “She hurt you.”

Credence tires to curl in on himself a little more. “I deserved it— I had done something to deserve it,” Credence says desperately. He isn’t sure why he’s defending her, but he feels it’s right. He’s never been good or pure, Graves wants to help him see the purity and good that Credence is sure he doesn’t have. 

“No, you didn’t. Not once did you deserve those beatings,” Graves says and reaches out, snatched up one of Credence’s hands before he can pull away. “Look at what she’s done to you.”

Credence doesn’t look, he can’t. He considers every scar a reminder of every unholy thought he’s ever had, and the Obscurus doesn’t even begin to cover it. He deserves more— so much worse. 

“Credence.”

“Mr. Graves, I’m sick,” Credence says before tears finally spill over, fat drops rolling down his cheeks. His shoulders shake and he’s aware of how disgusting he looks with splotchy skin and a runny nose but he hurts, Graves is the only thing that’s ever made that stop. 

“You aren’t sick,” Graves says in a measured tone, swishing his hand lightly to retrieve a tissue from the other room. His other hand is still holding Credence’s, gentle and warm. “Your mother— that woman was a sick, sick person who made very bad things happen to a very special person, Credence.”

“You never deserved this. Your whole life has been out of your control.”

Credence nods jerkily, sobbing and wiping viciously at his tears with the back of his free hand. Graves hands him a tissue and it takes it but he can’t stop crying long enough to utter a thanks. 

“I can’t make it all go away, but I can help you. I won’t lie, I won’t mislead or mistreat you,” Graves says, voice dropping a little lower. There’s still comfort there but he’s serious, he’s even holding Credence’s hand a little tighter. “I can help you get control. You can overcome this, you’re so close. Don’t let this stop you, not now. You’re too important to me, Credence.”

Credence cries a little harder as he speaks, sucking in desperate and wheezy breaths. The idea that he’s important to Graves makes his chest ache physically. 

“Will you let me help you?” He asks after a minute, even though Credence is still a sniffling mess of tears. He nods vigorously, hiccups softly as he mumbles a thank you, a please, too. 

“Please, help me.”

Graves smiles gently at him. Credence wishes he smiled more. “Then calm down and let go, hm? You’re working yourself up over the past, you need to focus on now.”

Credence nods, follows Graves’ deep and even breathing until he’s a little calmer. 

“There you go,” Graves says, rubbing his fingers along the back of Credence’s hand. “Better?”

“Yes—much, thank you,” Credence mumbles, stumbling over his own words. 

“Now, how about you finish your tea and try and get some rest? I think you’ll be alright.”

Anxiety spikes in his chest and he flashes him a concerned glance. 

“You’ll have the pills to help. You have to trust me, though.”

Credence nods. “I do.”

“Good, now how about you eat a little something and try that out?”

Credence nods again, shifts around a little so his legs don’t go anymore tingly. Graves lets go of Credence’s hand and smiles.

“Mr. Graves?”

He looks at Credence as he readies to get up. “You can call me Percival, if you’d like, you know,” he says fondly and Credence feels a tingle go all the way through him and he knows he must be bright pink but he nods anyways, quickly. 

“Okay,” he says meekly. 

“What did you need?”

Credence bites his lip and has to push himself mentally to say the words. “Will you stay?” He asks awkwardly. He sounds so unsure of himself that he cringes. He has the power to wisp away the remainder of the dark magic, and that knowledge alone makes him feel tingly with a kind of power. Still, he needs Graves, maybe more than anything else. 

He looks at Credence, pondering. “I have lots of work that needs attending,” he says, and Credence knows that, he understands. He doesn’t have time to coddle him and grant his every pointless need. His chest still hurts a little, regardless. “I can stay until you fall asleep though, how about that?”

Credence’s eyes dart up to meet Graves’ and he nods quickly, hair flopping in his face. “Yes, thank you,” he rushes. 

“Whatever you need, Credence,” Graves says smoothly, handing him the two little pills for him to take as he situates himself besides Credence. 

He thinks that if someone as striking and intelligent and well rounded as Percival finds something good and worth while in him that he must be right, at least partly. Maybe Ma was wrong about him, really. 

He takes the pills with a thick drink of his tea and eats the small cake he’d brought him. He feels even better after that, though his eyes are heavier and he feels almost weighted as he lays back in bed, letting his head settle into the pillow. 

“How does that feel?” Graves asks, pulling the covers up ever so gently around Credence. 

He glows under the attention, hums softly with a little thrum of delight. He feels wanted. It’s a good feeling. “Good.”

Graves nods and takes the mostly empty tea cup from Credence and wishes it away. He settles in close to Credence, radiating a warmth and a dark, earthy smell. He doesn’t get under the covers, but he’s close enough that he doesn’t mind at all. “You’re doing so well,” he says absently, stroking the mess of hair from Credence’s face. 

“How?” Credence asks around a yawn, eyes fluttering. He wants to hear Graves say it, tell him exactly why, so he can store it away and remember the things that combat what his Ma said before. It’s a tool, of types.

“How?” He repeats, sounding utterly amused. Credence looks at him lazily from where he’s laying and nods. “Just look at you. You’ve put on some weight, you’ve got color in your cheeks. Credence you’re trying so hard, and I see improvement blossoming every day.”

“I can’t preform any magic,” Credence reminds softly, sucking on his bottom lip until it’s pink and plump. 

“Not yet, but I think we’ll get there.”

“You think?” 

Graves nods. “There’s plenty of strength in you, after all,” he says and Credence presses the side of his face into the pillow like he might be able to hide away there from the heat in his face. He can’t explain why Graves makes him like this. “Now, rest.” 

Credence smiles and gives a little hum. “Okay, Mr. Graves,” he says gently. He watches him almost correct him but he stops himself and just smiles, pressing a soft kiss to the top of Credence’s head.


End file.
